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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27421159">Scarred</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/copper_head/pseuds/copper_head'>copper_head</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We Can Do Something Good With It [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Triple Frontier (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Touching, a tiny bit of hair-pulling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:40:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,503</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27421159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/copper_head/pseuds/copper_head</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Will takes a breath, slow and shaky, waiting for his mind to catch up with where his body is. He lies there for a long moment, until his eyes get used to the darkness and the shapes of the furniture sharpen in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Until he remembers that Redfly is gone, but Benny and Fish are safe in their own beds, and Pope… Pope is sleeping soundly in his own bed, too. In the one he shares with Will.</p>
<p>Set after <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464065/chapters/43744399">We Were Warriors</a>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Santiago "Pope" Garcia/William "Ironhead" Miller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>We Can Do Something Good With It [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868437</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Scarred</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The first thing I've written after my thesis, it took my way too long and I feel like I forgot how to write in English lol. But I guess there's only one way to get back to it. I'm just so happy to be able to focus on my writing, I missed those two so much!<br/>Rated M, just to be safe.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Will moves, and he doesn’t make a sound.</p>
<p>He steps carefully, silent like a shadow, aware of his surroundings even as the darkened hallways blur at the edges of his vision. There is presence behind him, just as silent, following him when he turns the corner. Right at his heels.</p>
<p>He sees the target now. He’s one of many, a means to an end, his back turned to Will. A necessity, Ironhead knows. He comes closer, and realizes that his hands are empty, even if he’s sure he’s been holding a rifle just a moment ago.</p>
<p>Because usually it comes with gunfire, with the quick aim-shoot-repeat, powerful and deadly in the pull of the trigger. And sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it comes in stifling silence and the quiet whisper of last breath, in his arms when he eases to body to the ground, so it doesn’t make a sound as it falls.</p>
<p>He’s a step away, and it’s enough. He does what he needs to. One swift motion, one hand covering the mouth.</p>
<p>The death is here, at his back, and Will brings her forward with a flick of his wrist.</p>
<p>Ironhead doesn’t look, doesn’t need to see the surprise in the widened eyes or a face of a boy, another kid who made a wrong choice somewhere along the way.</p>
<p>Ironhead doesn’t look but still sees it out of the corner of his eye. There’s a flicker of recognition in his mind that shouldn’t be there, an unsettling sense he knows the shade of the man’s eyes, and that his features look familiar somehow--</p>
<p>Will wakes up with a gasp that is nothing more than a sharp inhale, sudden and painful in his lungs and too loud in his ears. Wakes up in perfect stillness with his muscles trembling against the flinch that never came.</p>
<p>He needs to know what’s happening, because there’s always danger when he gets pulled to consciousness like that. And if there’s danger, then where are the others, where’s Redfly and Catfish and Pope and Benny, <em>where’s his</em> <em>brother, where’s Benny--</em></p>
<p>Will takes a breath, slow and shaky, waiting for his mind to catch up with where his body is. He lies there for a long moment, until his eyes get used to the darkness and the shapes of the furniture sharpen in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Until he remembers that Redfly is gone, but Benny and Fish are safe in their own beds, and Pope… Pope is sleeping soundly in his own bed, too. In the one he shares with Will.</p>
<p>He turns his head to look at the shape beneath the covers. Santiago is right there, near the edge of the bed where they’ve drifted apart during the night, stretched out on his belly. When Will’s heartbeat stops pounding in his ears, he holds his breath for a moment to hear the whisper of an inhale from the other side of the bed and watches the barely visible shift of Pope’s body.</p>
<p>Thank fuck. Santiago has trouble falling asleep as it is, and Will finds out yet again that there’s at least this small consolation in the knowledge that his nightmares don’t come with screaming and thrashing around.</p>
<p>He waits for an exhale, counts nine more, and slips out of bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s an hour later when he comes back, the uneasiness that the dream has left him with shaken off as much as it could be between the bright light in the bathroom, the glass of water in the kitchen, and the spot behind Jax’s ear where Will has scratched him after the dog had come to keep him company.</p>
<p>The door clicks shut behind him, and this time the shadows in the bedroom are soft and welcoming. The bed looks inviting, too. Santiago has turned onto his side in the meantime, and now he lies with his back to the empty space Will longs to return to.</p>
<p>So he does.</p>
<p>He slides beneath the comforter and makes himself comfortable. He meant to just try and go back to sleep, still tired and somewhat calmer now, but he stares at Santiago’s back instead. The curve of his shoulder and outline of his ribs rise and fall in the steady, slow rhythm. Inhale, exhale. And Will can’t help but inch closer, and then closer again, drawn forward by Pope’s warmth. Just a bit, he tells himself, because even without touching, Pope’s tangible presence, here with him, turns out to be more comforting during nights like this one than he still tends to expect.</p>
<p>But he’s already so close, and Ironhead realizes he doesn’t really have the strength to fight against the need to press himself to Santiago’s back.</p>
<p>He starts with the back of his right hand against Pope’s ribs. When Santiago’s breathing stays deep and even, the way it should be, the rest of him follows: his thigh touches the back of Pope’s through their pajama pants, nose brushes the soft hairs at Pope’s nape.</p>
<p>Careful not to disturb him, Will stays like this, arms folded between their bodies. Santiago shifts briefly, stretching out his leg and rubbing their shins together, but settles again right after. Sleeping peacefully. Ironhead draws a slow breath, focuses on their closeness and on Pope’s warmth. On the scent of him.</p>
<p>Will feels his eyelids grow heavy and the noise lingering in his thoughts subside into the low hum. He shifts his head forward on the pillow until he can lean his forehead against the scar on Pope’s neck, and that’s how the sleep finds him.</p><hr/>
<p>The world, Ironhead finds out, manages to be kinder to him in the morning, even cold and windy as it is. He wakes up with his legs tangled with Pope’s, presses a kiss and a few silent words to his shoulder, and does his best to pull away as gently as possible. Just like any other day, Santiago cracks one brown eye open regardless of his efforts but immediately goes back to sleep when Will tells him to, burying his face in the pillow.</p>
<p>And just like any other day, Ironhead feels a wave of amazement so strong it could probably bring him to his knees if he wasn’t in bed crash into him at the sight. There is great trust written deep into the ease that Santiago falls back asleep with, needing only a glimpse at him and the slightest of assurances, and Will finds himself taking another moment before he’s ready to get up.</p>
<p>The sky greets him with heavy steel-gray clouds as he takes Jax for their run, and Pope – with a kiss on the cheek when they come back. Will can feel his gaze during breakfast, which in itself is a completely normal thing, but this morning the look in Santiago’s eyes is more contemplative than anything else. He usually seems to know when something’s off anyway, and it’s not like Will is trying to hide anything from him – doesn’t have to, and doesn’t want to, ever again – so he’s not exactly surprised when it becomes clear that Pope has noticed.</p>
<p>Right before he leaves for work, Santiago ties his shoelaces. Straightening, he tilts his head left and then right in what Will suspects is an absentminded attempt to loosen the tension left after yesterday afternoon. They’ve been babysitting Frankie’s kids again, and Santiago has spent two hours bent over a seventh-grader’s geography project about the types of deserts.</p>
<p>Before Will has a chance to ask about his neck, Pope lays a hand on his arm. “Tired?”</p>
<p>“Rough night,” Will answers honestly, turning away from the wall he’s leaning against to pull Pope into a proper hug. “Don’t worry.”</p>
<p>Santiago chuckles into his shoulder. “Bit too late for that.” He takes a step back and grins, bright and gorgeous, and Will’s fingers tighten at Pope’s hips where he hasn’t released him yet. “Wake me up next time, yeah? I can provide some distraction, if nothing else.”</p>
<p>Will hums quietly, smiling back. He doesn’t plan on waking Pope up at night if he can avoid it, but he can humor him a bit. “What kind of distraction?”</p>
<p>Tipping his chin up a little, Pope stays silent for a moment, stares at Will with a glint in dark eyes. “Any kind you want.”</p>
<p>There’s promise in it, a promise of being kissed until he can think about nothing else than the hot slide of their tongues. Of being reminded he’s there and then, with Pope in their bed and nowhere else. For as long as it takes.</p>
<p>But there’s also the undercurrent of warm, unguarded sincerity in Pope’s voice, one that sounds like <em>anything you need. </em>And Will has no choice but to believe Santiago would want to be woken up in the middle of the night, no matter how late he’d managed to fall asleep, only to talk to him for hours if that’s what Ironhead would want from him.</p>
<p>“I might take you up on that,” Will says, not lying. He usually manages alone, perfectly used to dealing with the restless nights, and as this past one has proven, Pope helps even without being aware of it. But if Will ever needs something else, something more than Santiago’s quiet presence, he knows he can ask for it. “Go or you’re gonna be late.”</p>
<p>Santiago leaves, but before he does, Will makes sure he’ll be thinking of their goodbye kiss for the whole way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Between walking Jax and running a few errands, the afternoon comes quickly enough. Will focuses on things he has to do with practiced ease; his thoughts don’t stray where he doesn’t want them to, and all that remains after his shitty night is the lingering fatigue, barely noticeable unless he’s doing absolutely nothing.</p>
<p>Santiago comes back home eventually, and then there’s grocery shopping and Chinese for dinner, and Will appreciates every minute of this uneventful, boring Thursday. Up until the evening.</p>
<p>Pope has settled down on the couch with his laptop to search for another one of the B-class action films they’ve recently started to unironically enjoy (and, if asked, would deny ever watching), and when Will enters the living room, he catches him lean his head back with a slight wince one time too many today.</p>
<p>Will puts the drinks he’s brought down on the coffee table and hovers by Santiago’s side instead of joining him on the couch. “Your neck is bothering you?”</p>
<p>“The whole fucking day. The things I do for those kids,” Pope muses, eyes still on the screen of his laptop. “See? School really fucks people up.”</p>
<p>“At least someone appreciates your sacrifice now,” Ironhead replies, gets a glance up and a wry snort in return. He raises one hand to Pope’s neck, lays it over the scar almost without pressure.</p>
<p>Pope lets him. He doesn’t even blink when Ironhead starts rubbing his thumb back and forth across warm skin. “They’d better. That project turned out great. B+ at least.” He leans into Will’s touch. “Feels good, go on.”</p>
<p>“Pope. It’s your spine,” Will reminds him reluctantly. He didn’t reach out with the intention to ease Santiago’s discomfort, not like he usually does when Pope complains about his knees and Will tries to help as much as he can, even underqualified as he is.</p>
<p>He doesn’t know if he’s had any intention just now. Pope was in pain and he just wanted to touch him.</p>
<p>That apparently got Santiago’s attention, because he stops scrolling and looks up at Will, eyes dark. “You didn’t seem to mind my neck,” Pope says slowly, raising an eyebrow, “when you were pulling my hair yesterday.”</p>
<p>There’s a pause. Ironhead just throws him an unimpressed look.</p>
<p>“Fair enough,” he says after a moment, picking up where his thumb has stilled at Santiago’s hairline. “But I’ve told you already, I don’t want to fuck it up any further trying to make it better.”</p>
<p>“Then don’t try to make it better, just keep doing what you’re doing now.”</p>
<p>Before Will has a chance to protest, Pope is already turning in his seat. He throws his feet up on the cushions, leans back over the armrest and tips his head back until he can rest it against Will’s belly, the sudden shift forcing Will’s hand to the side of his neck.</p>
<p>They stare at each other, upside down, for a long moment. And then Ironhead gives up, raises his other hand and cards his fingers through Pope’s soft thick hair.</p>
<p>Santiago lets out a low, appreciative sound. A shadow of a smile pulls at his mouth, suspiciously triumphant, eyes fluttering closed when Will moves both his hands down, almost to his shoulders, then up again. Gently, unhurriedly. It’s not the kind of touch that’s meant to be therapeutic, not at all. He just keeps touching, goes by what he thinks may feel good, by what makes Santiago relax under his hands.</p>
<p>He looks down at silver strands in Pope’s curls, at dark eyelashes fanning out against his cheeks, and thinks about teasing him about being needy. And he would. But then again, Pope rarely voices small needs like that, rarely ever asks for anything.</p>
<p>Will says nothing, rubs firm circles into the base of Pope’s skull instead.</p>
<p>“Don’t stop,” Santiago murmurs, everything else apparently forgotten. The screen on the laptop goes black. The harsh white light vanishes, leaving only the warm glow of the floor lamp.</p>
<p>Will’s left thumb falters briefly, catching on the skin behind Pope’s ear. Santiago doesn’t seem to notice, so Will continues – scratches gently at his scalp, cradles the back of his head and feels its weight resting in his palm. His left hand shifts lower, over Santiago’s nape and to the side, the underside of his jaw.</p>
<p>The stubble scrapes against his fingertips. Santiago’s pulse is steady and strong underneath thin skin, the line of his throat bared.</p>
<p>Will is holding his head.</p>
<p>“I said, <em>don’t stop</em>.” Pope tilts his head further back against Will’s stomach, into his palm. Prompting, demanding.</p>
<p>And Will manages not to flinch, somehow fights down the need to drop his arms right now and take a step, or several, back. But his fingers flex involuntarily against Pope’s neck, in his hair. Just a bit, not sharply enough to pull too hard – enough for Santiago to open his eyes.</p>
<p>“Hey.” Pope frowns slightly in confusion, but Will can see the moment he makes an educated guess. When he speaks again, there’s an undertone of concern in his voice. “Too much?”</p>
<p>Will bites down on the reflexive <em>it’s all right</em>. He takes a deep breath, thinking about what he wants to say, and only then shakes his head. “No. It just… wasn’t a good idea.”</p>
<p>Slowly, carefully, he lifts Pope’s head back up and drops both his hands to Pope’s shoulders, squeezing a bit. A simple reassurance.</p>
<p>But Pope twists his body to throw him a look, nevertheless. “Bullshit,” he says with conviction. “It was a great idea. Come here.”</p>
<p>Santiago shifts and turns to sit the right way, and suddenly Will is being tugged at until they’re facing each other. Pope pulls him closer by the beltloops, spreads his knees to make space for him. For the lack of a better option, Ironhead’s hands return to his shoulders.</p>
<p>“I like it,” Pope tells him then in a quiet murmur, “when you touch me. Always.”</p>
<p>Will stifles a sigh. He doesn’t know what he wants to do more; bend down to kiss him – hard – until Pope is breathless and panting against his lips, or kneel right where he stands so Santiago doesn’t have to tilt his head up to look at him like he does now, all soft brown eyes and disarming sincerity.</p>
<p>Eventually, he raises his right hand, hovering near Santiago’s face.</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>Will brushes his fingertips down the bridge of Pope’s nose, and Pope’s eyelashes flutter.</p>
<p>They’ve been through this quite a few times, and there’s no guilt, or nor much of it, anymore. Santiago made sure of that. And Ironhead knows that for his own sake he should avoid worrying about it again. Self-doubt is poison.</p>
<p>But the memory is vivid, sharp in his mind despite the passing time and Santiago’s insistence. It’s a constant reminder to be careful, a reminder of something Will never wants to let happen again.</p>
<p>It’s a warning.</p>
<p>Will breathes out, feeling the weight of last night and this day settle deep within him. He tries to take his hand back, but Santiago reaches out before he can, catching Will’s fingers in his.</p>
<p>Slowly, deliberately, never taking his gaze off Ironhead, Pope turns his head and presses his lips to the center of his palm. He holds his hand to his cheek until Will swipes a thumb over the cheekbone beneath it.</p>
<p>Pope doesn’t stop there, and all Ironhead can do is watch him and feel – a rasp of stubble against his palm, then an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrist. Santiago’s warm breath on his forearm. He feels the heat travel with his bloodstream; up his arm, to his heart, flooding his ribcage.</p>
<p>Pope turns Will’s hand over, brings it to his lips again to brush them against the protruding wrist bone. Eyelashes lowering, he moves across the back of Will’s hand and starts pressing slow kisses to his knuckles. Once, twice, and then he smiles against the rough skin and faded little scars when Ironhead finally reaches up with his other hand to brush back a strand of hair that falls over Santiago’s forehead.</p>
<p>Pope makes an appreciative sound in the back of his throat. “Yeah, like that,” he mumbles as Will threads his fingers through Santiago’s hair. “Don’t stop, huh?”</p>
<p>Will doesn’t, and gets a gentle nibble to his ring finger in reward. He draws a slow breath and lets it out, caught between exasperation and bright, overwhelming fondness that fills his lungs and veins, settles deep into his bones. “Pope. That’s enough.”</p>
<p>“Enough?” A hint of teeth, back on Will’s wrist bone. “’Because I can keep going.”</p>
<p>Santiago glances up, eyes narrowed and crinkling in the corners, and Ironhead can’t help but swipe his thumb over the lines. On the same motion, he strokes over Pope’s temple, buries his hand further into already mussed, salt and pepper curls, and – cautiously, steadily – tightens his fingers. He tugs at Pope’s hair, careful but firm.</p>
<p>And right away, without any resistance, Pope follows the pull, tipping his head back and away from Will’s right hand that he still holds in both of his. He chuckles, a bit startled and visibly pleased, and suddenly, with unexpected urgency, Will wants to feel the low rumble of it against his tongue.</p>
<p>“All right, all right,” Santiago concedes. “Enough, I hear you.” He grins, all sincere joy and a shadow of self-satisfaction.</p>
<p>And this – this is real. This is Pope grounding him, intuitively providing the gentle push when it is needed. Reminding Ironhead of everything he’s capable of besides the violence that tends to return at night sometimes, uninvited.</p>
<p>Tenderness. Giving pleasure. Being rough, if that’s what Pope wants, without ever having a reason to regret it.</p>
<p>Will pulls his right hand free of Pope’s hold and loosens the grip he still has on his hair, rubbing Santiago’s scalp to get rid of any lingering stinging. When Ironhead cups his face in his hands, Pope lets him.</p>
<p>Giving in to the urge from earlier, Will bows down, and then there’s nothing except the slow, eager slide of their mouths together and the quiet noise Santiago makes as he wraps his fingers around Ironhead’s wrists. His lips part easily at the first touch of Will’s tongue.</p>
<p>“You do,” Pope murmurs between kisses, breathing shallower, quicker now, “make it better, you know?”</p>
<p>Ironhead licks into his mouth again for that. A long minute passes before they part, and then Will leans his forehead against Pope’s, lets their breaths mingle in the space between them.</p>
<p>“You make it better, too.” Pope is solid beneath his hands. His neck must be hurting by now, but Will allows himself a moment more, pulling back to look at him. “Looks like we’re good for each other.”</p>
<p>Pope meets his gaze. “Yeah,” he says, firm and certain and a bit breathless. “Yeah, we are.”</p>
<p>They do watch the film, eventually. Halfway through it, Jax comes and puts his head on Will’s knee, demanding to be petted, then proceeds to jump on the couch with them and fall asleep on his lap.</p>
<p>And later, in bed, Will puts his mouth and tongue and teeth to Pope’s neck, holds him tight with his fingers splayed wide on Santiago’s back. Much later, after their heartbeats have slowed down and Pope still hasn’t moved out of his arms, Will trails his hand up his spine to cover the scar, and lets the dreams be only the dreams.</p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>“Your hands are scarred from murder, and yet, I trust them completely.”</em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always greatly appreciated!</p>
<p>And if you want, come say hi to me <a href="https://copperdead.tumblr.com/">on tumblr</a> - in the future I might post some of my fics a little bit earlier there. Also, I don't want to call it taking requests, because I can't promise anything, but you may drop by to tell me what Pope/Ironhead fics you'd like to read or throw some prompts at me, and we'll see if I can make it happen!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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